by R. L. Stine
Gretchen slipped out onto the porch. She raised the heavy log in her hand.
Her eyes darted from side to side, seeking the slightest movement. The wind sprayed her with rain. She felt her wet clothes sticking to her body.
Is my mind playing tricks on me? Gretchen wondered. Am I seeing things?
Over the pounding rain, Gretchen heard a sound.
Behind her.
Before Gretchen could turn around, a hand fell heavily on her shoulder.
Gretchen whirled around, swinging the log in her upraised hand.
She stared into the eyes of her attacker.
The log fell from her hand and clattered to the porch floor.
Jackson.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he angrily demanded.
“When I checked the locks on the windows, I thought I saw someone out here. I was taking a look around.”
“By yourself?” He scowled at her.
“Someone had to check things out,” she replied.
“That was stupid, Gretchen,” Jackson scolded. “You should have waited for one of the guys to go with you.”
Gretchen didn’t feel like arguing with him. She brushed past him and stepped back into the house.
Gretchen found a towel in the bathroom and dried herself off. Then she bundled herself in a yellow blanket and stood in front of the fireplace.
Her soaking-wet hair felt plastered to her head and she tried to pull a comb through the tangles. Jackson stood beside her, wrapped in a blanket of his own, also warming himself up.
“He could have been watching you the entire time, getting ready to strike,” Jackson said. “It’s a good thing Hannah told me you were out there.”
Jackson’s words chilled Gretchen more than the icy rain outside. She recalled the scene in the kitchen that she’d overheard. Jackson and Cindy arguing.
The sound of the slap.
Then the silence.
Should she ask Jackson about that argument? Would he tell her the truth?
“We didn’t find anybody,” Patrick announced as he marched into the room with Gil and Marco.
“Neither did we,” Gretchen replied. She left Jackson at the fireplace and plopped down next to Hannah on the couch.
“Did you check everywhere down here?” Jackson asked.
“Everywhere except the kitchen,” Gretchen told him.
“Marco and I will do it,” Jackson offered.
Gretchen watched Jackson and Marco disappear into the kitchen. She could hear them moving about. Then all was quiet. Minutes dragged by. Jackson and Marco didn’t return from the kitchen.
Gretchen glanced at her watch. What was taking them so long?
“What’s going on in there?” Hannah whimpered.
“I don’t know,” Gretchen answered.
She jumped up from the couch and strode to the kitchen door. She pressed her ear against the door. All was silent on the other side.
“The killer is in there!” Gretchen shrieked. “He’s killed Jackson and Marco!”
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19
“Jackson!” Hannah cried.
Gretchen stepped back as Jackson and Marco came walking out of the kitchen.
“What happened?” Gretchen demanded as they returned to the front room. She sat down next to Hannah. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry,” Jackson apologized, sitting in a wooden chair across from the couch. “We were in the walk-in pantry.”
“So the kitchen is safe?” Gil asked.
Jackson nodded.
“What do we do now?” Hannah asked. “Wait till the police arrive tomorrow?”
Marco shook his head. “No. We ask some questions.”
Gretchen stared at Marco. “Questions? What kind of questions?”
Marco turned to Patrick, who was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. “How did you say you got that blood on your shirt?”
Gretchen watched as all eyes in the room locked on the front of Patrick’s shirt.
“I told you,” Patrick explained. “I cut my hand when I opened the bedroom window.”
“But there isn’t any blood on the windowsill,” Marco said. “I know. I checked when we were searching upstairs.”
Patrick laughed. “So? Is that supposed to mean I’m a killer?”
“Why isn’t there any blood?” Gil asked.
“There isn’t any blood on the windowsill because I cleaned it up.” Patrick held up his bandaged hand. “And if you still don’t believe me, you can take a look at the cut on my palm. Or check out the garbage in the kitchen. It’s filled with pieces of broken glass.”
Gretchen felt her body trembling. She knew it wasn’t from the rain and cold, but from the fear in the room.
“Can we please stop attacking each other?” she pleaded. “It won’t do us any good. Let’s try to figure out what we’re going to do next. We need a plan.”
Hannah began crying again.
“I feel so awful,” she sobbed. “I fought with Cindy yesterday afternoon. I found out she won the scholarship I applied for, and I said some horrible things to her. Now I’ll never have a chance to apologize.”
Gretchen studied Hannah, wondering if her tears were real. She remembered the scene in the kitchen.
Remembered Hannah saying she wished Cindy was dead.
Remembered how angry Hannah had been about the scholarship.
With Cindy dead, there was a good chance that the scholarship would go to Hannah.
And no chance of Cindy stealing Gil back.
Gretchen’s eyes traveled from Hannah to Jackson.
Creepy Jackson.
Always staring at her.
Always watching her.
Could he have been watching Cindy the way he watched her? She hardly knew him. He could be capable of anything.
Even murder?
“I heard you arguing with Cindy tonight, Jackson,” Gretchen blurted out. “I was outside. I heard you through the kitchen window.”
“No way,” Jackson denied.
“It was your voice,” Gretchen insisted. “I know what I heard.”
She saw Jackson’s cheeks turn red as his temper flared. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Gretchen couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Jackson was losing his cool!
“I never argued with Cindy tonight,” he insisted. “You heard somebody else. Maybe it was Patrick. Or Marco.”
He’s lying, Gretchen thought. I know what I heard. Jackson was arguing with Cindy. He slapped her.
But did the argument spin out of control?
Did Jackson do more than slap Cindy?
Did he kill her?
And would he have killed me out on the porch if he knew I overheard his argument with Cindy?
And… could he kill again?
Chapter
20
Beside Gretchen on the couch, Hannah continued crying.
“It wasn’t me,” Patrick protested. “I wasn’t even inside the cabin. I went outside, too. I felt drowsy. I thought some fresh air would wake me up.”
Someone is lying, Gretchen thought.
Jackson’s voice was the one I heard in the kitchen. I’m sure of it. And when I left the cabin, Patrick said he wasn’t going to budge.
As for Marco, he was outside with me. And Gil was with Hannah.
“Would you stop crying?” Gil snapped at Hannah. “You’re driving me nuts.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so upset,” Hannah sobbed. “I can’t believe Cindy is dead. Tonight was supposed to be such a special night. And now she’s never going to have another birthday.”
“You don’t care,” Gil sneered. “You were ready to scratch her eyes out tonight.”
“That’s because she was throwing herself all over you,” Hannah shot back. “And you were encouraging her.”
“I was not!”
“Yes, you were!” Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you really think Cindy liked you? She was just flirting with you to get back a
t me.”
“Are you for real?” Gil shot back. “If it wasn’t for Cindy’s parents, she and I would still be going out together. You’re jealous. You were always jealous of her.”
“Stop it!” Gretchen cried. “Before you both say something you’ll regret.”
Hannah ignored Gretchen’s advice. She jumped off the couch and stood in front of Gil.
“Cindy didn’t care about you,” she told him. “If she cared anything at all about you, she wouldn’t have dumped you.”
“That’s not true!”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, it is. Cindy always wanted what she couldn’t have. She always had to steal things from other people. That’s why she was always flirting with you. All that mattered was stealing you away from me.”
“She didn’t have to steal me away from you!” Gil screamed. “I was going to break up with you!”
“I hate you!” Hannah sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “You’re horrible! I wish you were dead!”
“Like Cindy?” Gil taunted. “With a killer on the loose, maybe your wish will come true. Maybe I’ll be dead by tomorrow morning. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll be dead!”
Gretchen couldn’t believe Hannah and Gil were saying such horrible things to each other.
“Stop it!” she cried, pushing herself between them. “Stop it! Stop fighting! How can you say those things when there’s a murderer out there? How can—”
Gretchen gasped as the front door burst open. It slammed hard into the wall.
She spun around.
“Who’s there?” she cried.
Chapter
21
No one there.
“The wind,” Jackson murmured. “The wind blew the door open.”
Gretchen sighed. She had expected to see the killer standing in the doorway, waving a bloody knife, threatening to kill them all.
Jackson strode to the door and shut it. “I guess I didn’t close it all the way.”
Hannah sniffed. She sat back on the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest.
“The next time the door slams open, it could be the killer, getting ready to finish what he started with Cindy,” she choked out.
“Why would the killer come back? Why would he come after any of us?” Patrick asked.
“Why did he go after Cindy?” Hannah demanded. She huddled in a corner of the couch. “All I know is that I’m scared. I want to go home.”
“We can’t go home,” Patrick said. “Not until the police get here.”
“By the time the police get here, we could all be dead!” Hannah cried.
Marco turned from the fireplace. “That’s not very likely. We have a slight advantage. I mean, there are six of us and one of him.”
“Not if he kills us off one by one,” Hannah reasoned, wiping tearstains from her face.
“Hannah is right,” Gretchen agreed. “I think we all need to stick close together. I don’t think any of us should go off by ourselves. It’s too risky.”
Gretchen pictured Cindy’s body sprawled in the flour.
What were Cindy’s last thoughts before she died?
Gretchen gazed around the cabin at her friends. She felt as if she were seeing them for the first time.
She thought she knew them—but did she?
Could one of them have murdered Cindy?
Was that why Cindy’s eyes were filled with such terror?
Had she been unable to believe that someone she trusted had killed her?
No, Gretchen thought. It can’t be.
It had to be that escaped prisoner.
If he had been hiding in the Fear Street Woods, he could easily row over to the island.
It was the prisoner, she told herself. It had to be.
Because if it’s not the prisoner, one of my best friends is a murderer.
Gretchen shuddered. “We’re safer if we all stick together,” she said.
“Yes,” Jackson said. “We stay together at all times. Starting now. Follow me. We all have to go back to the kitchen.”
“Huh?” Hannah gripped her stomach. “I can’t even think of going in there again.”
Jackson sighed. “It’s important. I want to check out Cindy’s body one more time.”
“Why?” Gretchen asked. She couldn’t help feeling suspicious.
“Maybe it will help us figure out what happened,” Jackson replied.
Hannah shook her head furiously. “I can’t go back into the kitchen. I can’t!”
“Come on, Hannah,” Gretchen coaxed, pulling her by the arm. “You know we’re right. We have to stick together. You can’t stay out here alone.”
As soon as Gretchen led Hannah into the kitchen, Hannah raced to the other side of the room. As far away from Cindy’s body as possible.
Gretchen saw her turn to the wall with her eyes squeezed closed.
Gil and Marco hopped up on a kitchen counter while Patrick leaned against the refrigerator. Ignoring the others, Jackson began walking around Cindy’s body.
Gretchen stood in the center of the kitchen, inches away from the corpse. She stared down at the floor. She was standing so close to the body, her foot was practically touching Cindy’s hand.
She noticed red nail polish on Cindy’s fingernails, some of it chipped away. A gold charm bracelet dangled around her wrist.
But that wasn’t all.
Gretchen’s eyes widened.
How had she missed it earlier?
A baseball cap.
Gripped in Cindy’s hand.
Cindy hadn’t worn a baseball cap to the cabin.
If the cap wasn’t hers, where did it come from?
Had someone else been wearing it?
The killer?
Did she grab it off her murderer?
Gretchen raised her eyes to the others. Jackson was watching her. She returned his stare.
“What is it?” Jackson demanded.
Gretchen swallowed hard to clear her throat. “Cindy is holding a baseball cap,” she replied.
Hannah’s eyes popped open. “What did you say?”
“Cindy is holding a baseball cap,” Gretchen repeated. “She didn’t wear one to the cabin.”
Her hand trembled as she pointed to the cap.
“Who does it belong to? Whose cap is it?”
Chapter
22
Patrick’s mouth gaped open in shock. “It—it’s mine,” he sputtered.
“Yours?” Gretchen gasped.
Marco jumped off the kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed as he studied Patrick.
“How did your baseball cap get in Cindy’s hand?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at Patrick.
Patrick shrugged. “Hey, come on. Give me a break. I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”
“Because it belongs to you,” Gretchen said sharply. “You admitted it.”
“Just because my cap is in Cindy’s hand, you think I killed her?” Patrick exclaimed. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!”
Hannah’s eyes shot to Patrick. She backed away from him. “You killed her?”
“Of course I didn’t kill Cindy,” Patrick insisted. He took a step toward Hannah.
“Stay away from me!” Hannah screamed. She darted to Gil’s side. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Hey—come on, guys!” Patrick pleaded. “You know me. We’ve been friends forever. Why would I kill Cindy? It’s totally dumb.”
“Then why is your cap in her hand?” Marco demanded again. “How did it get there?”
Patrick threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know!”
“Is that all you can say?” Gil cried. He had his arms around Hannah, who was shaking. “That cap is real evidence, Patrick. It points right to you.”
“I want to go home,” Hannah sobbed. “I wish we’d never come to this horrible cabin.”
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Patrick insisted. “I don’t know how my cap got in Cindy’s hand. I hung it on the coatrack by the front door w
hen we came in.”
“Nobody saw you do it,” Jackson told him.
“I am not lying! You have to believe me!” Patrick pleaded. “I hung my cap by the front door. Maybe Cindy decided to wear it.”
Hannah uttered a bitter cry. “You’re pathetic! Do you really expect us to believe that?”
“Cindy is wearing a jacket,” Gretchen pointed out.
“You’re right,” Gil said. “It’s my grandfather’s lumber jacket. From the hall closet.”
“So maybe Cindy was going outside for some air,” Gretchen continued. “Maybe it was raining, and she didn’t want to get her hair wet. So she grabbed Patrick’s cap off the rack. Cindy freaked out if her hair got the least bit frizzy. Everyone knows that.”
Patrick nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he said.
“But if she was worried about her hair in the rain, why was she clutching your cap so tightly after she was stabbed?” Gretchen asked.
“I think she was trying to leave a clue to the identity of her killer,” Marco said. “Maybe the killer was wearing the cap—and she pulled it off his head while he was stabbing her.”
“No!” Patrick gasped, shaking his head. “No.”
“You have blood on your shirt,” Jackson pointed out.
“And Cindy is grasping your cap,” Gil added.
“So what?” Patrick cried. “That doesn’t make me a murderer.”
“But it does make you look very guilty,” Hannah blurted out.
“I have a gun—remember?” Patrick cried heatedly. “If I wanted to kill Cindy, I’d shoot her. I wouldn’t stab her with a bread knife!”
Gretchen felt horror wash over her as she listened to Patrick’s words.
She stared down at Cindy’s blood-caked wound.
“How do you know it was a bread knife?” she gasped. “Tell us, Patrick—how do you know what kind of knife the killer used?”
Chapter
23
“Because the bread knife is missing,” Patrick replied. He pointed to the empty slot in the knife holder on the counter.
Gretchen’s eyes moved to the tipped-over knife holder.
I’m becoming suspicious of everyone, she thought. I’ve known everyone in this room for months. And now I’m starting to believe one of them is a killer.
